Forget Me Not
by TwWereWolf
Summary: He finally did it, he finally killed him, but why can't he forget? Why can't he forget the look of betrayal or the tears that leaked from his eyes?


**WARNING: character death and angst.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Durarara or any of it's characters!**

* * *

He finally did it, he finally killed him. A flying projectile had finally hit it's mark and sent the informant soaring through the air and hitting the pavement below with a dull **THUD**. There were bones protruding out at distorted angles, flesh was torn and blood was spilt. He should be glad he only got away with community service, he should be glad that Kasaka somehow never found out, he should be glad that the god damned Flea was finally dead, but he couldn't! He couldn't be happy, not after he saw the jacket clad man's expression like that! Yes, there were expressions, emotions, that you would expect anyone to wear, surprise, hurt, confusion, but what startled him the most was the over whelming and utter look of betrayal and the tears that came with it. Why? Why was there betrayal? Why were there _tears?_ They both knew from the very second they met that the other would most likely be their future murderer, so why? Why, why, why? Why couldn't he forget the crimson eyed man that now stalked his dreams?

* * *

It had been three weeks now. Three weeks since he murdered a man, three weeks of community service, three weeks of trying to forget. Ikebukuro was almost silent now, almost safe. There were no more vending machines being hurtled across streets, no more insane laughter or cell phone stomping, no more excitement. The gangs have all but crumbled with out Izaya pulling their strings, like the grand puppet master he was. There are still the Dollars and "The Black Bike" but they are no threat to him, no challenge. He still guards Tom, but after all the chases and fights with Izaya, these people are nothing more than nuisances, like ants trying to take on a raging tsunami.

It's weird, he's always wanted peace, to be able to go a day with out his temper kicking in, but now that he has it he feels...empty. Like a piece of his heart was ripped out, or like there a cut that refuses to scab over and heal. He felt guilty, guilty for depriving Izaya of his own existence.

Yes, Izaya, not "Flea" nor "Louse." He was Izaya, a human being just like himself. He laughed, he loved, (or at least tried to) he hoped, he hurt and he cried, he was no different. They were nearly complete opposites, yet they had so much in common. It seems as though he had his eyes closed all this time, to not to have seen who Izaya truly was, to not to have seen he was human. Yet now, no matter how tightly he shut his eyes, he can not shut his heart to the pain inside.

Lost in his thoughts, he had unconsciously walked back to the source of his contrition. It was the same road, the same path way, it was the very last route that Izaya took before his life ended. Just as it seemed the guilt would over take him yet again, it started to rain. Isn't it funny how it always seems to rain when you need the sun the most?

His eyes once again drifted to the cracked concrete, not caring for the fact that he was getting soaked in the downpour of water; They hadn't even bothered to fix the crumbling consolidated rock. A little flicker of blue caught his attention, squatting down, he saw that it was a single flower poking up through the splits and breaks of the pavement. It's petals were a calming blue, turning white near the center. At the innermost point there was smaller yellow petals and a brown stigma. He remembered it from back when he was a child, if he recalls correctly it's name was...His eyes widened, looking down at the innocent bloom. Then, he suddenly smiled. It was a sad one, yes, but it was a smile none the less.

"I promise."

* * *

It's been years since that fateful day. His temper is nearly nonexistent now, yes, he'd snap, but he wouldn't loose control; besides no one could ever piss him off as much as Izaya did. The last time he lost it was when a group of punks had decided to slander and vandalize the spot where Izaya passed. They may be out of the ICU now. He'd always go back to that exact spot every week, talking for a bit, either complaining about how quiet Ikebukuro's gotten since the brunette left or informing the now ex-informant about all the latest news. And always, no matter what, he'd leave a single blue flower. A single Forget-Me-Not.


End file.
